Power and Seduction
by sincerelyLuka
Summary: "I've got a theory of my own," Aiden realized, the words a whisper. Tom raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "You infuriate me because of that," he gestured towards Riddle's face, "that emptiness of yours, how bored you always seem. I want to wipe that expression from your face. You're never genuine." [Rated M for language, suggestive themes, and darkness.]
1. Prologue

The green eyed man stared sympathetically at the crying couple, firmly holding the hand of his wife. The stern looking redhead offered the couple a smile and this gesture somehow seemed to make the wife cry even harder. Ginny met his eyes and he allowed her to search through his mind, to see his resolve. She tore her gaze away and stared at the ground. The war was over. They shouldn't have to do this.

"This is the right thing to do, isn't it?" the blond husband spoke, voice shaking only slightly, looking softly toward the room where his children slept. He could almost hear them breathing, could almost feel their pleasant, unknowing dreams. That strengthened him.

"It is," the great wizard standing before him humbled. He seemed, at least, to understand how hard this was. "They will save so many people."

"Are you sure that they will be safe?" Christina, the crying wife, finally asked. Her lips were trembling but she had seemed to sense her husband's strength and had calmed significantly.

"I guarantee that they will be. I wouldn't ask this of you if I had any doubt. I'll make sure that the people they stay with know who they are, who their family is, even if I can't give them all the information I should like. They will never want for affection." Knowledge is a dangerous thing, he didn't say.

The couple breathed as one for a few minutes and considered this. Harry Potter watched them quietly, gave them their privacy when they finally made their decision and went to say their goodbyes to their children. It was people like them that reminded him of his faith, people like them that he had fought so hard to save.

"They're brave," Ginny whispered. The glasses-wearing wizard nodded his agreement.

"When Albus was alive he spoke often of the power of love," he said, silent enough so as to not disturb the couple's last moments with their children. "If it weren't for him, I don't think I'd have understood how important this is. I don't think I'd have been able to make this choice." He squeezed her hand and she suddenly knew how hard this was for him to do. She knew that he would feel guilty about it for the rest of his life; he, of all people, knew what it was like to have the world forced on his shoulders.

"They can do it," she said firmly.

"I know."


	2. Miles To Go

**"I can watch the sunlight melt the snow. I can feel a new light start to grow." **

_Miles To Go,_ by Stateless.

* * *

_To one mister Pendragon_

_King of the blonds_

_i.e "totally not related to a Veela at some point",_

_So I heard you turned down Dippet's ply to get you as prefect. I don't really know why, seeing as you're brilliant and what not, etc., etc., you know what I'm referring to, but until you go back on this temporary insanity I regret to inform you that both I and all of your other friends will be ignoring you. Get in contact with me when you decide to take advantage of what has so rightly been placed before you. Power!_

_It's an ample opportunity, really. Imagine what I'd be able to get away with, having a best friend for a prefect. I didn't even know you could turn down being a prefect. Isn't it required or something? There's still a month until Hogwarts is back in session. Be a darling and send a groveling letter to the moronic headmaster. Shouldn't be too hard. You're very good at sticking your head up your ass._

_King of all but the blonds_

_Best friend of an idiot_

_Johnathon Lestrange_

_P.S. I used to wonder why you weren't placed in Slytherin with all the other brilliant minds like myself. Now I know. It's because you don't have any ambition. Your heritage is almost a waste._

_P.P.S. I've sent a package of chocolate frogs with this. Don't tell anyone. I'm supposed to be giving you the cold shoulder._

Rubbish. The average-height but still very awkwardly limbed fifteen year old frowned at the parchment, wanting nothing more than to cast a silent_ Incendio_ and send the paper up into flames. It had been nearly five years since his sorting at Hogwarts and he was still sour about not being placed in Slytherin.

It wasn't that Aiden wasn't ambitious – if anything, he was one of the more aspiring souls of his year. It was just that he thirsted for other things, as well, and he wasn't as openly idiotic with his ploys for a higher reach of power. Add that with the fact that he also didn't really care about punishing other students and making patrols during his fifth year, the year of OWLS, and everything was understandable.

Instead of lighting the letter on fire – the issue of underage magic wasn't a problem; he was surrounded by wizards and it would be near impossible for the ministry to blame the residual spells on him – he folded it up, two crisp and exact movements, and slipped the paper into his box of prior letters.

It was hard not to smile, truly, when a chocolate frog suddenly hopped into his face, wiping the gloomy look from him and forcing him to splutter indignantly. Some wizard of amazing heritage he was, he thought, shooting one last poisonous (yet somehow still fond) look at where he had placed the letter from his friend. A wizard with a heritage like his own should be surrounded by a prestigious family, in a huge manor decorated with reminders of his esteemed ancestors.

Instead he was sitting grumpily on a bed, surrounded by four walls that seemed to be closing in on him, reminding him of the foster family outside his door bustling about in preparation for the nearing school year. His younger sibling would be new this year and the house was buzzing with excitement.

His foster mother, who he did admittedly refer to as "mom", had been near tears when she had seen the letter congratulating him on being prefect. That mood of hers had turned to ice when he revealed that he was planning on turning down the position. It had then turned to flames when he had actually sent a letter to the Headmaster, speaking of his regrets and how he'd like to concentrate on the important tests of this year.

Aiden huffed, wand twirling between his fingers distractedly. He hated guilt trips. They didn't work on him. He found them pitiable. Nonetheless, he found himself pulling out a clean sheet of parchment and dipping his quill into his bottle of ink.

"Dear Headmaster Dippet," the letter read, "I would like to offer my sincerest apologies for my previous letter. The nerves must have been getting to me, as I'm sure you understand, and I would like to withdraw anything I might have said. Would you please consider reinstating the offer you had so generously offered me?" Blah, blah, blah, it went on, kissing ass in a way he was very talented at.

A chocolate frog hopped onto his head and he laughed at the absurdity of what he was getting himself into.

* * *

"Do werewolves have venom?"

"No, you idiot. Snakes do."

"That must be why Slytherins are so nasty..."

"Take that back! Tom is a Slytherin and he's probably the most charming person in this school!"

How had Aiden ended up sitting in a compartment with a group of third years? He was a prefect, for Merlin's sake, and the journey on the Hogwart's Express was supposed to be an enjoyable thing! He leaned his head into the window, eyes closing, blond hair bumping into the glass with a very soft sound. Ignoring people wasn't hard. Not really.

"Oh, of course I'm not talking about Tom! He's so handsome…"

Really, it wasn't. Even if the people he was ignoring had voices comparable to a banshee.

"Be quiet! What if he hears you and thinks you fancy him?"

"But wouldn't that be amazing? He might ask you out!"

"Do you think he would?"

Right then. This wasn't something his willpower could handle. The Ravenclaw prefect stood from his seat, already in his robes, and sent a glare at the group of gossiping annoyances. They returned the withering look and he sighed, stepping from the compartment and deciding it was about time he headed to the prefects meeting, regardless. It would be starting soon and he was actually very curious of who his fellow prefects might be.

The incomprehensible buzz of hundreds of voices falling into rhythm was relaxing when he was some distance away from it. It was almost soothing when it all fell into one beehive like hum, no voice recognizable from the others. He stood in the hall for a while, the steady thrumming of the train and the voices of Hogwarts mixing into one. A headache he hadn't even been aware of quieted, the pain going away.

"Well, look who it is," an insufferable sound spoke, interrupting his peace. Aiden opened one eye warily, brown hues falling on the good looks of he who had broken his peace.

"Indeed. Look who it is," Aiden agreed, the corner of his mouth pushing up. "A prick."

"I'm shocked! What a foul attitude for a prefect!"

"You're one to talk, John. If it weren't for you I wouldn't even have to wear this badge. I hope you're feeling satisfied." At this, his best friend lit up, running a hand through his mess of black hair and fluttering his eyelashes innocently in Aiden's direction.

The Ravenclaw held back a snort and flipped his friend the finger. Johnathon feigned a look of disgust, his hand moving to cover his heart mockingly. Aiden noted that the snarky jerk was handling puberty far better than he and frowned again, looking down at his now-clumsy body in irritation.

"Right. Well, I've got to go. Prefect duties of high importance. Top secret meetings with ghosts. Things you're not allowed to know about," Aiden clipped, turning around and ignoring the knowing laugh that followed him. It was a wonder he and Lestrange had become such good friends but they _were_ both extremely talented at dealing with each other's moods so, he supposed, it wasn't too unthinkable.

When he finally made it to the compartment designated for the meeting, he slid in, noting a few familiar faces and feeling satisfied that there were still others yet to arrive. He hated being late to things. The two Hufflepuff prefects eyed him, the one whose name he had never bothered to learn turning away first in disinterest. As much bad was said about Hufflepuffs, they could be surprisingly interesting and sure of themselves.

Instead of making conversation, he leaned against the wall, honey eyes closing once again in an attempt to fully rid himself of the almost-gone headache from before. Some time passed and he counted the door opening again and again before his eyes finally came open. Charlus Potter from Gryffindor he recognized, as well as Robins (a bored looking girl from Gryffindor), Goldstein as his own female counterpart from Ravenclaw, and none other than the famous Tom Riddle himself.

Robins crossed her arms and irately asked, "Where's Lucretia? As Slytherin Head Girl she should know better than to be late."

Riddle directed her with a calm look, his voice almost bored. "Lucretia is attending other things. She will be, unfortunately, late. She has already prompted me on what I need to know and I would be more than happy to pass that information on to everyone else here. I see you failed to notice that Weasely, the Head Boy, is also missing. As for where my fellow Slytherin _prefect_ is, I don't know."

Aiden smiled sweetly. "Flint is snogging a sixth year in one of the back compartments. I ran into her when I was trying to find a place to sit. You'll have to fill her in later, Riddle."

When Riddle's dark eyes fell on him, Aiden's smile grew. Tom nodded curtly, polite as ever, and began speaking. He would make a good Head Boy himself, one day, Aiden mused to himself. Even if he was very mysterious and dark and insufferable, the Ravenclaw had little doubt that Riddle would be chosen in their seventh year. He'd run naked around the school if he was wrong.

The speech was simple and to the point, going over their duties and what was expected of them. Don't take away points maliciously, spread interhouse friendship, a ton of bullshit that he'd have rolled his eyes at had the words not been coming from Riddle.

The prefects filed out of the compartment one by one, walking off to start telling everyone that it was time to put on their robes and make sure that they had everything ready. Aiden was just watching Goldstein's back, eyebrows furrowing at the slight sashay of her hips. He truly would never understand most of his friends' attraction to females. He was pondering this when his attention was pulled back to the present. The only two left in the compartment were Riddle and himself.

"I heard that you originally turned down the prefect position," Riddle began smoothly and Aiden silently cursed his friends. He was aware that a large amount of them reported to Riddle, that they called themselves the 'Knights of Walpurgis'. He'd assumed that his disinterest in the prefect position was so inane that it wasn't worth mentioning.

"Of course you've heard that," Aiden spat bitterly, the sly smile from earlier now turned down. "You know everything, don't you?"

Riddle didn't answer, instead steadying Aiden with a look that made him aware of how awkward he looked this year and how unfair it was that Riddle himself was beautiful, how adolescence seemed to be favoring him in the same way it was favoring Johnathon Lestrange.

Aiden returned the stare angrily, refusing to look away or retreat. He knew all about power plays. He had been expecting to go into Slytherin and had been preparing for it most of his life. The fact that he had been sorted into Ravenclaw didn't refute the fact that he was still very Slytherin in most of his nature.

Finally Riddle spoke up once again and though his voice was deceptively polite, almost friendly, Aiden wasn't ignorant to the annoyance in his eyes nor to the hunger. "I've always wondered why you dislike me so, Pendragon. I've offered you my friendship many times and you've turned me away. My friends are well rewarded, you're aware. Protection, secrets, information that is lost on most.

"I'm not naïve enough to believe you're simply jealous of me. You're a star student in your own right and you're not want for power. So I began to think that perhaps there was a different reason. You're certainly not foolish enough to dislike me for no reason, are you?"

He seemed to take Aiden's silence for agreement and his lips smoothed up at the corners, his expression that of a dark angel. "No, I thought not. You're not the type to act without reasoning."

"In case you didn't understand my sarcasm earlier, Riddle," Aiden snapped stiffly, "I wasn't serious when I said you knew everything. You don't know what I think and I don't dislike you. I don't like you, either. Is it so hard to believe that someone is indifferent to you?"

"Yes," the Slytherin answered simply. "It is. We both know it's not the truth. You're not indifferent." The dark teen leaned forward, breath ghosting across Aiden's ear. "Are you?"

His heartbeat was despairingly loud and embarrassing but composure was one thing he had learned to always maintain. Being best friends with a Slytherin, a Lestrange, did that to a person. When Riddle pulled back his smile seemed innocent enough but his eyes went up and then down Aiden's body and he was again aware of his own awkwardness. Riddle did this often, he knew. He was aware of his own allure and he took advantage of it. He knew that he had an effect on people. Before Aiden could think of a sarcastic remark, Riddle turned and left.

When the door shut, his composure fell. His eerily empty expression morphed into one of horrified irritation, lips parted in anger. His heart wasn't beating rapidly. His breathing wasn't ragged. He had more self-control than that, far more strength, and it was only a few minutes later that he was in the hall again, telling students in a monotone that they better hurry and get ready.

* * *

The grand castle of Hogwarts was in view now and a hushed excitement thrummed through the air. Aiden couldn't help the anticipation he felt. His fifth year had finally begun.


	3. Nothing Left To Say Now

**"I've come too far to see the end now, even if my way is wrong." **

_Nothing Left to Say Now,_ by Imagine Dragons

* * *

"Harley Laurence," Dumbledore's voice resounded across the Great Hall. Aiden watched as a small, dirty-blonde girl squeaked and tripped to where the transfiguration professor was standing, sitting down on the small wooden stool. She looked green. The hat was placed on her head and a few seconds later "HUFFLEPUFF" was called.

"Damien Mossier."

"GRYFFINDOR."

The red and golden table burst into applause, prefect Charlus Potter waving for the redheaded boy to join the table. The boy's face was alight with awe, his eyes looking all around as if he couldn't believe everything he was seeing. Probably a half-blood, Aiden deduced, or perhaps a muggle-born. Magic seemed new to him.

"Cassandra Patil."

"SLYTHERIN."

Resounding applause. Aiden was paying more than just nonchalant attention now, spine straight, a nervous ball twisting in his stomach. He saw his little sister look at him, her pale face panicky, and a ghost of a smile lit his face in encouragement. She nodded at him and turned resolutely back to the front.

"Katheryn Pendragon."

He worried his lip, that being the only sign of his inner nerves. He may not be close with his foster parents (though he was on good relation with them) but his sister would always have a hold on him. She fisted her hands and marched to the old stool, sitting down in one fluid motion.

Aiden's friends and acquaintances were looking at him curiously, probably also a little interested in what house his sister might end up in. Five seconds, he counted, and though that was by no means a long time compared to most students, his nerves were worse than ever. Two more seconds.

"SLYTHERIN."

A part of him withered. Another part was souring for her benefit. Aiden glared at the table. He was proud of her, of course, but Slytherin was the house he had wanted. It was a slap in the face that his brave, well-thought sister (who would have done wonderful in Gryffindor) was decided to be a better fit for the house he had admired since childhood than he was.

The rest of the sorting went by quickly. He didn't touch his food. He did pay attention when Headmaster Dippet made a speech but his mind was barely there. He sighed, blew his blond bangs from his face, and smiled ruefully toward the green table. He watched his sister's back. Her frame was shaking from laughter. She'd do well, at least. Better than him.

"Time to lead the first years, Pendragon," Susan Goldstein spoke, voice strangely gentle compared to her usual forcefulness. He offered her a grateful look and stood, posture straight as he made his way to the end of the table and called for the first years to follow him.

The walk up the many twisting stairs into the tower was surprisingly short. The first years kept asking questions and their interest was so palpable that he couldn't be as bored as he normally was during the walk to the common room. As they neared the entrance, the colors of Ravenclaw house became more and more frequent in the halls. Blue and bronze littered the walls, the decorations, and he remembered how amazed he had been in his first year.

They all seemed very curious, as one would expect of the cliché Ravenclaw, and he felt a wave of appreciation for the house he had been sorted into – even if it wasn't what he had originally wanted. After five years, Ravenclaw had earned his respect. When they got to the entrance of the common room, he allowed Susan to take the lead, explaining how to get in.

"What if we don't know the answer to the riddle that's asked?" asked one long haired girl, named Allison (he thought). He raised an eyebrow at her.

"If you don't know the answer, you wait until someone who _does _know it comes along," he quipped simply, dry amusement coating his voice. The first years looked at each other anxiously then and he could practically see some of them worrying. He laughed quietly and turned toward the door. The first years hushed in anticipation.

"I'm tall when I'm young and I'm short when I'm old. What am I?" the bronze eagle asked.

"A candle. Or, I suppose, one could argue that you're also an ego – that is, of course, completely different person to person, so I stand by my first answer. A candle." His answer was clear, voice raised slightly so the younger crown could hear and learn from his example. It wasn't lost on him, in that moment, that he really did fit in here.

"Very good. Enter."

He stepped inside and waited for all of the first years to shuffle in, many of them letting out sounds of admiration when they saw the common room. It was magnificent, he knew. It was filled with books, the walls covered by extremely impressive bookcases, the blue and bronze silks hanging from the walls, large windows offering a breathtaking view of the castle grounds. It was his home. He put a hand on Susan Goldstein's shoulder before that thought could go farther and whispered, "Handle it from here. I've got some things to do."

She rolled her eyes at him but nodded, turning once again to the first years to tell them about the dorm system and that they should, at no point, be caught going into the opposite gender's dorm. He laughed then, because that would never be a problem for him, and stepped through the doorway.

* * *

The wall was rough against him, the hand in his hair pulling his head back rather roughly, a knee pressed between his legs. Aiden's eyes were closed, breath coming in pants, Derrick Nott's teeth pressing into his neck. It wasn't at all a surprise encounter, something that had begun during Aiden's fourth year and had continued out of convenience. They had both gotten considerable better at this sort of thing, including the sneaking around.

That was something, he thought. At least he was gaining something out of this. He couldn't stand Nott as a person, didn't get along with him that well in general, but he wasn't too bad of a snog. Aiden's hands fisted in Derrick's robes, their bodies pressed against one another. It wasn't too terrible when his eyes were closed.

That finished quickly enough and once again, after straightening out his appearance, Aiden was walking the halls. Patrols were as boring as he'd thought they'd be. It was less time spent with his friends and more time spent alone. That wouldn't be such a bad thing if he liked himself more.

"Pendragon!" Footsteps plodded up to him, the messy-haired source of the voice panting as he finally caught up with Aiden. "Pendragon, wait, I need to talk to you." He sighed.

"What do you want, Potter?" Charlus wasn't at all taken aback by Aiden's monotone. They weren't friends but they had been partnered up a few times in their classes and Charlus seemed more than used to Aiden's lack of enthusiasm.

"I need you to talk to Jordan about Quidditch training. I want Gryffindor and Ravenclaw to practice together this week but I can't seem to find him and this is kind of important," Charlus ranted, hands moving frustratedly as he spoke. Seems Gryffindor's team was making an early start this year.

"And you want me to ask him for you?" Aiden asked, expression going blank. "Me?"

"Well. . . Yeah. I know you don't like Quidditch much but I figure you see Jordan more," he stammered, still moving a little agitatedly, hands wringing at his sides. Charlus always seemed to have a lot of energy when he was exasperated.

"I hate Quidditch," Aiden corrected.

"Yes, but—"

"Potter, Pendragon," another voice spoke, smooth and cold in the unmistakable manner of Tom Riddle. "I'm going to assume this is a free period for you both. Otherwise repercussions will need to be taken for avoiding classes."

"Sod off," Charlus scoffed, looking at Aiden and hurriedly saying "please just talk to him" before walking stiffly past – seems Aiden had been right – Tom Riddle.

Aiden raised his eyebrows in curiosity in Riddle's direction, mouth twitching. "You can't take points from other prefects. I _know _you know that, since you're the one who lectured us about our duty on the train." Tom's head tilted to the side, almost like a vicious puppy caught in the act. It was a free period, as well, though Aiden didn't point that out.

"Either way, well done," Aiden continued and he was honestly impressed with Tom's easy manipulation. Not that Tom Riddle being skilled at wrapping people around his finger was a surprise. It was just something that Aiden had always noticed and been a little envious of.

"I don't need your gratification," Tom spoke, once again interrupting his thoughts. Aiden bristled. Something about Tom Riddle and his polite perfection really pissed him off.

"Take the compliment. You're not like to get another one from me anytime soon," Aiden bit, frown prominent on his face. The frown only deepened when Riddle took a few steps toward him, seeming to enjoy the way Aiden unconsciously shrunk away.

"You'll never guess who I ran into earlier," Tom let out, eyes gleaming. "Just ten minutes ago, really."

"Myrtle?" Aiden teased, doing his best to meet Riddle's sadism head on. "I hear she's been hanging around you more and more. Did you finally give into her feelings?" Tom only darkened slightly at that; he looked as if he were enjoying himself and his knowledge too much for anything else.

"No. It was peculiar. Derrick Nott was walking around, so in his own world that he didn't even see me. He and I are acquaintances, you may know, so I called out to him." Ice hit Aiden's stomach. He took a step back. Riddle had gotten very close during their conversation, he noticed. "He seemed very out of it, hair extremely mussed and very red faced. Much like you at this moment, really. Are your lips swollen?"

"No."

"Hmm, I suppose they're not. Maybe you always look like that." Tom smiled. It wasn't an angelic look. It was demonic – a fallen angel, perhaps, being a better comparison. "That makes me think. Tell me, is it just me or have I never seen you with a girlfriend?"

"I don't have time for one," Aiden spoke, barely controlled anger shadowing his voice. "You don't seem to have time for one either," he pointed out. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go. You're a prefect yourself, so you should probably get moving as well. Goodbye, Riddle."

"I'll see you later, Pendragon."

Aiden ignored him and turned around. He felt as if death were staring at him as he walked away.


	4. Inscape

**"I can feel your skin on my skin. How did it get so cold in here?"**

_Inscape,_ by Stateless.

* * *

It was unsettling how often he was running into Riddle this year. Hogwarts had been back in session for two months now and not a week had gone by without Aiden somehow ending up alone with Tom Riddle there to ridicule him. He was beginning to suspect that this was very deliberate and that Riddle was finally making a larger effort to recruit Aiden into his collection of powerful families.

The name Pendragon was a powerful one. It was because of that name that Riddle had originally tried to befriend him during their younger years. Many of Slytherin had tried to befriend him – that wasn't a big thing. Slytherins were all about political prowess and recruiting big names. What disturbed Aiden more had been the amount of Gryffindors who had also tried to recruit him into their friends.

He wasn't the first Pendragon to go to Hogwarts, even if the last one to attend had been a few hundred years ago. In his first year he'd been bombarded with people asking of his relations, had been asked the same question over and over. "Are you related to King Arthur?" they had all asked. He had been a proud first year and had told them that yes, he was a descendant of _the_ Arthur Pendragon, head held high at this fact.

Some people had scoffed and said things along the lines of "it's not like you're related to Merlin" which was true but Aiden had never once stopped being proud of his heritage. This had died down considerably as he grew older and the people around him became more familiar with him. He made many Slytherin friends and questions of his heritage became very rare.

Tom Riddle hadn't been as open about his attempts to befriend Aiden and, after each offense Aiden made by turning Riddle away, the attempts had become less and less. Until this year. This year Riddle seemed to really enjoy torturing Aiden.

These thoughts left the Ravenclaw feeling extremely gloomy, a sodden aura following him around. It was Monday and he was in joint Potions with Hufflepuff, a class he actually usually enjoyed. Professor Slughorn may like the sound of his own voice but he was an alright teacher, had many connections, and if he was fond of you he was known to ignore practically any infraction – and he was, indeed, fond of Aiden.

Slughorn cheerily ignored the gloom surrounding Aiden and continued lecturing the class on the properties of the potion they had been assigned. Minutes later he was directing them to partner up and prepare the potion, due by the end of class.

It was a sign of Aiden's distracted attitude that he didn't protest when a Hufflepuff girl came up to him and asked to be his partner. He had never failed to correctly make a potion and it was because of that fact that the Hufflepuff girl was blamed for the explosion that happened at their table not five minutes later. Slughorn hurried over and glared at the girl, a hand patting Aiden's back, Slughorn's slimy voice reassuring him that this wouldn't affect his grade. "I know it wasn't your fault," Slughorn said.

"I'm sorry, professor," Aiden interrupted him, feeling sick with himself. "She did nothing wrong. I poured goblin's blood in before stirring." He turned to his Hufflepuff partner, the girl still looking a little shell shocked, and repeated his apology as charmingly as he could. Slughorn dismissed his apology and said that, of course, this still wouldn't affect his grade, something must be bothering him; take it easy for the rest of the day.

* * *

Aiden's mistake, unsurprisingly, spread throughout the school like wildfire, particularly through the Ravenclaws who were known to be nasty to anyone who made an academic misstep. Ravenclaws stepped on each other when they needed, so long as it helped them reach higher themselves.

Aiden had retreated to the astronomy tower, unable to take the whispering amongst his housemates and not wanting to make a scene by snapping at one of them. He could crush them if he wanted, the Slytherin part of himself thought. Or perhaps that was hubris, another part of him huffed.

Tom Riddle, once again, found him when he was alone. The Ravenclaw was expecting a remark on the potion explosion and his body was already tensing in retaliation, preparing to make a sarcastic bite in return. Riddle sat languidly beside him, expression as composed and calm as it always was, and was silent. Aiden waited for the irritation he knew was coming but surprisingly nothing happened.

"Is there something I can help you with?" Aiden asked uncomfortably, deciding to take the initiative himself.

"Not particularly."

". . ."

He sighed, attention moving from Riddle's cool beauty to the stars, what he had originally come up here to see. The silence went on and he found that he didn't mind, even if he did feel as if he were sitting next to a coiled snake. This was dangerous, his body screamed at him, but he didn't know why. He located his favorite constellations and recalled his first astronomy lesson at Hogwarts.

"You weren't in Defense Against the Dark Arts today," Riddle pointed out. "Are you actually letting people get under your skin? That's unlike you."

"It's your fault," Aiden surmised simply, eyes still on the sky.

"I am aware of that."

Somehow that really annoyed him. Still, he couldn't find it in him to get as angry as he usually did. Aiden had been putting up with Riddle for two months now and he was beginning to be very skilled when it came to tolerating him and he was hoping that Riddle would get bored soon. "If you're aware of that, then why do you keep cornering me? I'm not going to join the Knights of Walpurgis, if that's what you're wanting."

"I wouldn't expect a descendant of Arthur to agree to serve me so easily," Riddle said.

"You infuriate me," Aiden blurted, brown eyes turning to stare accusingly at the ever beautiful Slytherin.

"That's not my purpose."

"Yes, it is," Aiden argued quietly, desperately wanting Riddle to admit to it. He had been going out of his way to annoy him and the blond found this extremely childish. "You mean to infuriate me. Why else would you bring up Nott or constantly run into me?"

"I brought up Nott to confirm a theory," Riddle shrugged and the simplicity of that answer was so 'Tom Riddle' that Aiden laughed. The laugh was sudden and short and loud and it pushed itself from Aiden's chest painfully. He felt like he was going insane.

"A theory. _Right._ A theory." He let out a slow breath, narrowed eyes still trained on the fallen angel. "A theory about my homosexuality, right?" It was the first time he had ever spoken about his sexual preference aloud and even though the words were spoken monotonously (the same way he spoke to most people), his composure finally broke.

"Yes. My theory was correct," Tom leaned forward, his chin in his palm, and he gave an empty smile.

"I've got a theory of my own," Aiden realized, the words a whisper. Tom raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "You infuriate me because of _that_," he gestured towards Riddle's face, "that emptiness of yours, how bored you always seem. I want to wipe that expression from your face. You're never genuine."

To Aiden's curiosity, Riddle did seem a little surprised at this confession and leaned back, straightening into the perfect mask he so often wore. "I see," he spoke icily, almost angrily. The silence enveloped them again and a few hours later Aiden was first to leave.

* * *

"You and Susan have been spending a lot of time together," Johnathon Lestrange said cheekily a few days later.

"We're both prefects, John."

"Prefects who take patrols together very often."

"What are you suggesting?" Aiden sighed.

"That you're being naughty with your fellow Ravenclaw prefect. Don't think I've not noticed the way she smiles at you," Johnathon spoke wryly, mischievous smirk making him look like the definition of evil.

"Do you really have to refer to it as 'being naughty'? You're sixteen years old," Aiden pointed out, eyebrows furrowing tiredly.

The Slytherin smiled goldenly at him. "Snogging. Poking. Having sex. Oral play. Which of those do you prefer?"

"Are you jealous?" Aiden asked, just as evilly. "Does our little Lestrange have his eyes on Goldstein? How scandalous."

"She's not that bad looking, really," Johnathon mused, eyes suddenly distant. "Well shaped. Her rear isn't too bad to look at, either."

"You're going to try to get with her now, aren't you?"

"Please," Johnathon hummed. "I'm not going to steal your woman from you. Even if it would be very easy."

"I am not, in any terms, romantically or sexually involved with Susan, you moron. If you want to snog her, go ahead and try. I'm betting she'd turn you down."

"Oh, speak of the devil," Johnathon grinned, eyes narrowing at what Aiden assumed was Susan. He turned and his suspicion was confirmed. When she saw him, she smiled, approaching the two boys.

"Hello Aiden." He nodded at her in greeting and she continued. "What are you both doing standing in the hall for? The weather is great today. Go outside."

"I'm not a fan of the outdoors," Aiden deadpanned.

"Then go to the library."

"I'm not a fan of books," Johnathon's imitation of Aiden's deadpan was spot on.

"Of course not," Susan said in exasperation. "You wouldn't be, would you? Nothing about dark magic there."

Johnathon pursed his lips, turned to Aiden amusedly, and then pushed from where he was leaning on the wall, approaching Susan with a sudden predatory gleam. "You wound me, Goldstein. Have I ever given you reason to dislike me?"

"Yes."

"When?"

"Third year. You called me ugly. Fourth year, as well, you and your group of friends tripped me on my way to Herbology," Susan crossed her arms, hip jutting out to the side.

"Oh. Well, if you'll forgive me, my love. You know what they say about boys being mean to the girl they like."

"Five points from Slytherin, Lestrange, for being inappropriate." She glared at Johnathon for a few more seconds, her expression akin to that of someone looking at something extremely unfortunate. "Goodbye, Aiden. It was nice to speak with you."

"Right," he agreed, ignoring the fact that they hadn't really spoken.

He and Johnathon watched as she walked away, Johnathon pouting. Aiden laughed. "I told you she'd turn you down."

"Only because she fancies you," Johnathon dismissed.

"If it makes you feel better, I give you permission to believe that, no matter how untrue it is."

"Really, though, who _do _you fancy?" Johnathon suddenly asked, now in best friend mode. "You've not told me anything but I've noticed how distracted you are recently."

"I don't fancy anyone," Aiden sighed once again, relaxing against the wall. "And I am not distracted."

"You are so. You can't lie to me; I notice things. I'm trained to notice things, for Salazar's sake, so you really can't deny being a distracted little tit for the past month or so."

Aiden looked oddly offended by that. "I'm not a tit."

"Can't deny your own nature, Aiden."

"I'm not a tit!"

"Don't change the subject, you tit. Who's it you fancy?"

"Screw off, John," he hissed, his anger surprising even himself.

"You're very quick to anger this year, have you noticed? You're usually a lot of fun to be with but I'm beginning to rethink that," Johnathon's words were low and full of the warning Slytherin's often took advantage of.

Aiden paled. There really was something wrong with him this year, wasn't there?


	5. You Hurt The Ones You Love

**"How can you expect more of me? I come from chaos, brought up in tragedy."**

_You Hurt The Ones You Love (I Don't Believe That),_ by Maria Mena

* * *

Johnathon was avoiding him. It wasn't a faint, subtle thing, the way it often had been when they would quarrel as kids. This was different, the sort of thing that happens during the maturation of two different manipulative and irate people. Their eyes would meet and Johnathon would smirk, the withering smirk he often saved for those he disliked.

Aiden would be lying if he claimed that this wasn't affecting him. Johnathon was his best friend, as annoying as he could be, and he was aware that this was his own fault. He'd had no excuse for his mood these past few months, had no way to explain why he was so filled-to-the-brim with anger. Even if he had an excuse he would feel no less guilty; he wasn't the type of person who liked taking his irritation out on other people.

To make things more confusing, Tom Riddle hadn't cornered him since their confrontation three days ago. Aiden was, admittedly, extremely relieved over this matter if not a little wary of what Riddle's absence could mean in terms of Aiden's health. Riddle had been, he'd noticed, extremely distracted in his own right – more so than Aiden himself had been recently.

Susan had told him that she saw him more and more frequently in the library. As worrisome as that could be, the Ravenclaw _didn't care_. He was more preoccupied with his stubborn best friend and his own bubbling emotions. He hadn't met with Nott, either, since Riddle had mentioned Derrick being 'out of it'. Aiden was acting very much like the typical angst-ridden teenager and that made him more than a little ashamed with himself.

Not ashamed enough to stop acting the way he was but he _was_ ashamed. Thursdays were more or less a free day; the early potions lesson the only exception. Aiden was pleased to find that he had been able to concentrate enough to turn up his normal results and he had been praised by Slughorn immensely.

Despite his self-professed dislike of the outdoors, he found himself wondering the grounds near the lake, giving himself some well-needed time to pinpoint why he was in a foul mood this year. It wasn't normal, surely, to have such a long lasting irritation. He was usually fun to be around, he thought, remembering Johnathon's cold remark about his recent quickness to anger. He was usually sarcastic and morbidly humorous, something his Slytherin companions appreciated.

The Giant Squid popped to the surface for a few seconds, splashing water towards a few students who were standing too close to the lake. Much like a grumpy old man, Aiden thought, laughing to himself at the now-soaked and indignant group of students. One of them stomped their foot in a comedic fashion and seemed to be shouting at the already submerged squid. The sight made him laugh even harder, body shaking with the force of the unexpected source of amusement.

The Giant Squid was lovely, he knew, and it did care for the students of Hogwarts. It also liked teasing them and splashing them when they were unexpecting. Aiden eyed the lake cautiously, moving farther away so that he too would not end up taking an unwilling shower. He was drawn to the edge of the Forbidden Forest though he did not actually go in. He was a prefect, he reminded himself, and he didn't feel right breaking as many rules as he usually did.

Hours passed and his growling stomach forced him to reluctantly return to the castle. It was about dinner time, luckily, and he wasn't the only hungry teenager dazed at the thought of food. Dinner was, as always, delicious. More than delicious, even – it managed to put him in a good mood for the first time in a while.

Little first year Allison, who was sitting near him, cleared her throat to get his attention. He turned to her, waiting. "Have you ever thought that science has more to do with magic than is widely accepted?" An intelligent question. As expected from a Ravenclaw.

"I don't know much about science," he admitted, "I grew up in an all-wizard family and I wasn't around muggles often. I have done some independent studying on the subject, however, and it seems to me that magic breaks the boundaries of muggle scientific laws. I think their mathematics might have a better chance at explaining magic; it's closer to arithmancy."

She nodded slowly at his words but she seemed to still oppose that idea. "I don't think so. Some muggle laws can be disproven by magic, yes, but there are also many muggle theories that can be applied to magic."

They went on like that for a while and the conversation was, to his surprise, very interesting. First years, while still very young, did often have fresh opinions. He finished eating and dismissed himself from the table early, noting that Johnathon was also getting up from Slytherin table and suddenly feeling confident enough to reconcile.

He was just about to call for John's attention outside of the Great Hall when something tugged on the sleeve of his robe. He turned and came face to face with his younger sister, Kathryn, accented with Slytherin colors. They suited her. (_They'd have suited him better. . .)_

"Yes, Kathryn?"

"Are you alright?" she asked him, hand still firmly holding onto his sleeve. She pulled him down the hall, which was a wise move, seeing as the crowds of Hogwart's student body would soon be pouring out of the Great Hall. "You've been _out of it_ lately."

He smiled at her, crouching so that he was eye level with her. "I am fine," he promised and, to his wonder, he meant it. "I've been being a silly prat but I'm over it. Your brother can be really stupid sometimes for being such a genius."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Yes, you really can be. I was just—There's a rumor going around Slytherin and I only heard it yesterday but I was thinking it might have already reached you and I was worried."

Aiden blinked, smile smoothing. "What is the rumor about?"

She shrugged hopelessly. "Just. . . be more careful with who you trust your secrets to, okay? I don't want you to get hurt." Kathryn beamed at him, petite frame making her look deceptively innocent. "And don't worry. I'll take care of it. They'll learn not to mess with my family."

* * *

"Why did you call me here, Professor?"

Dumbledore, his cheery redheaded transfigurations professor, unnerved him. The man was very old, he knew, but he still held signs of youth. It was a wonder, really, seeing as the professor's face was also creased with the telling signs of a hard life. He was able to look at someone and see into their soul and it honestly left Aiden feeling very self-conscious.

"I need to speak with you, mister Pendragon, and it's about something I am sure you will find very serious." The blond froze and it was only the professor prompting him to sit down that made him move. Was Aiden doing badly in transfigurations? Was he going to be expelled for some reason? Neither of those seemed likely; something about the sparkle in Dumbledore's eyes made him think that the professor was enjoying this.

"Er," he managed. "Okay."

Dumbledore was silent, eyes scouring Aiden's own brown ones. He seemed sad at what he saw and he shook his head. The Ravenclaw was confused.

"Am I in trouble, sir?"

"On the contrary, I've called you here because I am worried about you. I believe it's important to have someone to speak with at your age. At the same time, I am also of the opinion that it's necessary for the young to be able to handle things themselves – and ask for help when they're in need of it on their own accord." Dumbledore folded his hands on his desk, gazing steadily at the fifteen year old. "Would you like a biscuit?"

"Ah. . . no, thank you," he mumbled weakly. "Is that all?"

The redheaded professor sighed, smiling at the young Ravenclaw nonetheless. "Yes, that is all. Do keep what I said in mind, will you?"

"Yes, sir. I'll take my leave now."

* * *

"Johnathon! John, wait. Please, you dramatic jerk, stop walking and turn around."

The messy-hair of Johnathon Lestrange calmed, the wind from his fast pace dying down as his footsteps slowed. His tall, regal back was stiff and he seemed far angrier than Aiden had expected. His fists were clenched and when he turned to face the blond his expression was furious. Aiden felt his breath leave him and he was suddenly terrified of what his best friend was about to say.

"What?" Johnathon asked, voice far louder than it needed to be. A few of the others in the hall glanced at them interestedly but kept walking. It wasn't unusual to see people arguing. Having a large amount of adolescents in a castle meant that there was always drama. "What could you _possibly_ want?"

Aiden was still speechless, in awe of his friend's fury. "I—"

"Why do I find out things about you – my best friend – from other people? Shouldn't I be the first to hear? What is _wrong _with you, Aiden? Am I not trustworthy enough for you to confide in?" Johnathon was breathing hard, his chest heaving, completely livid.

"I don't—"

"Oh, you don't know what I'm talking about, do you?" The Slytherin gazed at him in pungent disgust, clenched fists shaking. His question was mocking.

_Just. . . be more careful with who you trust your secrets to, okay?_

Aiden knew what this about. He felt anger of his own boiling up. Nott or Riddle were responsible for this, he knew. "Johnathon," he tried once again, voice shaking only slightly. "Johnathon, I was going to tell you."

"Were you?"

". . ." Aiden looked at his feet, unable to meet his hopefully-still-best friend's eyes. "Probably," he said softly.

"Look. I don't care if you're into blokes. I really don't." Johnathon took a deep breath and seemed to calm considerably. That could be deceiving, though. John was great at keeping his cool. That he had lost his composure at all showed how angry he must have been. "I was led to believe that you thought well enough of me to know that I wouldn't judge you based on who you do or do not fancy."

"I'm sorry," Aiden hushed. "It's not something I've ever told anyone. If I _were_ to tell anyone, you'd have been the first."

"Seems like Nott was the first," Johnathon pointed out stiffly.

"That was of a different nature," Aiden attempted to joke, gauging John's expression as he went on. "You know, snogging, poking, that sort of thing." A silence. He made a face and corrected himself, "Actually, it never went past snogging. Nott's not exactly the ideal romantic."

Johnathon snorted. "I guess you were telling the truth when you said you didn't fancy Susan."

"Yeah," he breathed. "She's not really my type."

* * *

He met Katheryn's eye in the Great Hall the next day at breakfast and she flashed a grin, her head nodding in Nott's direction. Nott was slumped in a defeated manner and when Aiden looked back at his younger sister she ran a finger across her throat, almost maniacally. He shook his head in fond exasperation and turned back to his table.

"Aiden," Jordan – who Aiden had, it turns out, ended up talking to about Quidditch as a favor to Charlus Potter – called. "Is it just me or is Riddle glaring at you? What'd you do to irritate him? If his fan club notices, you'll be in for it."

He hung his head helplessly. "I have no idea. I seem to be making everyone angry lately. Must be a talent of mine."

"If it's any consolation, I think you're _endearingly_ annoying," Jordan smiled, nodding once in satisfaction and turning back to his meal. Aiden rolled his eyes but, nonetheless, turned to see that it wasn't just Jordan – Riddle really was glaring at him. He sighed again. He really didn't feel like bothering with the perfect Tom Riddle at this moment, he decided, so he didn't expend any energy wondering _why _Riddle was staring at him.

It's not as if they had spoken in a while, so Tom Riddle really didn't have reason to be irate with him, did he? He wasn't still angry about Aiden's admission regarding Tom infuriating him, was he? Right. No energy expended whatsoever.

This wasn't at all bothersome.

* * *

"Oh, you're so lucky," a nameless second year cooed at him dreamily. "Tom has been staring at you all day. . ."

* * *

"Aiden, I'm starting to think Riddle has a vendetta against you," Susan told him a few hours later during their patrols, glancing at him worriedly.

* * *

"What's your problem, Pendragon? Seems like Tom Riddle is angry with you."

* * *

"You're not having trouble with Tom, are you, my boy?" Slughorn teetered nervously. "There seems to be something going on. . ."

* * *

He was waiting in the hall, arms folded across his chest, face solemn. Waiting. He didn't need to make any more patrols that night but he knew that a certain person would be passing this way in a few minutes. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

"Oh, and did you see Parkinson's face? He was _so _unbecoming." Flint's voice reminded him of a banshee, he thought idly. It echoed sourly through the hallway and almost made him cringe. "It's a good thing he's a pureblood, else he'd really not belong in Slytherin, don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly," came the idle reply and Aiden heard vexation in the voice. Seems like Tom also thought Flint resembled a wart, even if his ever-present politeness stopped him from outright saying so.

_ Waiting. _

The echo of Flint's voice died down as they neared Aiden and when she saw him waiting, she silenced altogether. That was well enough for him. He'd rather not hear her grating voice in such close proximity. He stepped from where he had been in the shadow, mutinously formal. "A word, if you will, Riddle." The Slytherin judged him for a few seconds, presumably considering whether or not Aiden was worth his time.

"Go on without me, Trixia. It seems Pendragon has something to discuss with me." Flint rolled her eyes and shot a poisonous glare at Aiden but obeyed Riddle without word. She'd been aptly trained, it seemed. He met Aiden's stare with boredom.

"Quite a few have pointed it out to me that you've been glaring at me rather a bit today. Have I done something to offend you?"

"No." The word was spoken with a smirk and with outwardly little thought. Riddle once again managed to both confuse and aggravate him.

"Then?" Aiden prompted. "Why've you been watching me?"

"I was confirming another theory."


	6. Counting Bodies Like Sheep

**"I'll be the one to protect you from a will to survive and a voice of reason."**

_Counting Bodies Like Sheep To The Rhythm Of The War Drums,_ by A Perfect Circle.

* * *

_"Then?" Aiden prompted. "Why've you been watching me?"_

_ "I was confirming another theory." _

Aiden went silent, staring sourly at the pale beauty that was Tom Riddle. He didn't bother prompting for a reply – the fallen angel seemed perfectly aware of how uncomfortable Aiden was and Riddle was going to take advantage of that, as he always did.

"You're very self-deprecating," Riddle stated, dark hues glimmering. "You don't like yourself."

"That's not a hard thing to notice," the Ravenclaw scoffed.

"No," he agreed. "It's not." That admission made Aiden shift his weight, fighting the urge to look away.

"You seem to have a lot of theories about me lately."

"Tedium allows me to ponder many things, Pendragon; you're not special. Don't bother entertaining the idea that I'm approaching you amicably."

Impatience allowed Aiden to regain some of his confidence. "I have trouble believing that Nott decided to declare my . . . _preference _on his own. Would it be right to believe that you're responsible for the recent rumors about me, as well?"

Riddle seemed annoyed with that idea. "I don't involve myself with juvenile gossip."

Aiden made a disbelieving sound, brown eyes narrowing. "I'm _sure_ you don't, Riddle. You only involve yourself with idiocy."

"Ah, then wouldn't that make you the definition of 'idiocy'?"

"You're not involving yourself with me."

"I'm unsure of your exact mental intellect," Riddle began slowly, "but I am convinced you're bright enough to be aware of the fact that multiple conversations constitutes involvement."

"Do you decide to use big, superfluous words before you speak or does that come natural to you?" Aiden asked.

"Do you decide to change the subject consciously or is that an innate instinct of yours?" Riddle raised an eyebrow.

"A little bit of both, I think."

". . ."

Aiden burst into laughter, smile pushing the negative feelings behind him. Riddle almost sighed, the Ravenclaw noted, and that made him laugh even harder. The burning stare that was being sent his way made him quiet eventually but he was feeling altogether lighter than he had at the beginning of this talk. This wasn't too bad.

"You really _are_ the definition of idiocy," Tom concluded sardonically.

* * *

He was in the common room, pouring over his (huge amount of) homework. OWL year was, as he had expected, exceptionally stressful. He really should have stuck with his decision and turned down the prefect position. He really should have but he **hadn't** and now his workload was immense. When he wasn't on the lookout for irresponsible students, he was studying desperately; he had little time to spend with his friends.

Luckily, even with the pile of assignments, he was still a quick worker. He finished before many of his classmates – an accomplishment seeing as he was surrounded by Ravenclaws. Altogether, even with the stress, Aiden was in a far better mood than he had been for most of the year. The end of November was going favorably well, to his delight.

"Break time," Janus Macmillan, another fifth year, declared. A murmur of agreement filled the air and Aiden decided that a break was, indeed, a good idea. Spare time with Ravenclaws was surprisingly similar to what it was with all of the other houses – some of them read, yes, and some did get into academic debates but a good amount of them did what all wizarding teenagers do.

They talked about sex, giggled at the wrong moments, played dangerous games, and became comfortable with one another. Aiden knew all of the fifth years in his house; he was also acquainted with a large amount of the fourth and sixth years. Still, he wasn't the most social person and usually ended up in one of the less crowded corners, joking darkly with the other odd balls.

As it was that particular day, he _did_ end up doing something rather normal. He talked about sex. A small bit. In a very roundabout way. Because of a first year being more forward and less prudish than he.

"You have to admit that some muggle sciences are correct," Allison insisted, voice stern and expression ferocious. Her hands were on her hips and though she was still shorter than Aiden, she could have easily passed for a second or third year in height. She was rather intimidating, in all honesty.

"Some," he said plaintively, "but only a very small amount and even those can be broken by magic. While they apply to most situations, they don't apply to all."

"What about the science of sexual reproduction?" she asked, lips pursed. "That science applies to wizards and witches, too. We reproduce the same as muggles."

"Uhm," he choked, "Actually—"

* * *

"So, have you ever been . . . you know. Attracted to me?"

Aiden stared blankly at his best friend, expression flat. Johnathon was no longer angry with him and that was all well but he had been asking more and more questions. His discovery of Aiden's sexuality was, for the most part, very accepting. That didn't stop him from being awkward in a way unlike him; Johnathon would pause to make jokes that he would have otherwise never hesitated on, wasn't as quick to undress, and was altogether more squeamish.

"You're not serious, are you?" Aiden glared.

"Am I ever not serious?" The blank stare continued. Johnathon huffed."Just answer me, you tit."

"No. Never. You're not that appealing."

This time it was Johnathon's turn to give an empty look, although his was also underlined with accusation.

"Honestly?" Aiden stalled, now hesitant. John nodded. "Once. When I was thirteen."

"Oh," John grinned, eyes alight with sudden understanding. "That's why you avoided me that year! You wanted in my pants!"

"I wasn't thinking about getting in anyone's pants when I was thirteen, John," he scolded, "I was too distracted by the fact that I apparently liked dicks."

* * *

A hand pulled him into an empty classroom. His hand came up before anything else, instinct, and his appearance was that of extreme caution. The tip of his wand was pointed in his attacker's face. A face that belonged to none other than Derrick Nott. Aiden groaned and put his wand away, stepping out of Nott's proximity.

"What do you fucking want?"

"Oh," Derrick smirked, "you seem exceptionally feisty today." Derrick looked remarkably slimy up close. Aiden's dislike for him had increased greatly – he didn't even think snogging him would be enjoyable anymore. The blond was near certain that he'd just imagine murdering Derrick through the whole thing.

"Did you really think I'd still want to waste time with you after you told everyone?" he asked.

"I didn't really care about what you wanted," Derrick supposed. "I'm the only one who you can _waste time_ with. No one else appears to share your like of males."

"Come near me again," Aiden smiled, very much resembling his sister, "and I'll rip off your limbs."

* * *

"Erm, professor. I've been thinking about what you said and I was wondering if I could ask you something?" Aiden was nervous and, as he always was in his transfiguration professor's presence, he was unnerved.

Dumbledore smiled merrily at him. "Right-o," the redhead nodded, "What is it?"

"You knew, didn't you?" He didn't need to specify. He knew the professor understood what he was referring to.

"Though the students seem unaware of it, mister Pendragon, their rumors _do_ actually reach the adults' ears as well." His smile was still too bright, too content.

"I'm not – It's not abnormal, is it? I'm not the first person to be . . . you know . . . at Hogwarts, am I?"

Dumbledore looked at him knowingly.

* * *

Tom Riddle was alone, not surrounded by his usual cronies (the Knights of Walpurgis), and Aiden took that as his opportunity to approach. He had his hands in his robes, stride as nonchalant as he could manage, and he was even tempted to whistle. He _would_ have whistled, honestly, if he knew how.

"Can trees talk?" Aiden asked, voice interrupting whatever peaceful loneliness had been in the air around the Slytherin.

"No," Riddle said dismissively, "they cannot."

"Hmm," he hummed, "that's very disappointing. I was hoping to have a conversation with one. I suppose you'll have to do as a replacement."

Riddle met his eyes, frowning. "What are you implying?"

"That you're as fun to talk to as a tree. You're about as emotive as one, at least."

"You're an idiot."

"You've said that before," Aiden chirped helpfully.

"I recall."

"Yeah," the blond said. "Anyway, I've been thinking a lot lately."

"What a difficult time you must have had."

"Sarcasm isn't attractive, Riddle."

The Slytherin sighed. It was one of the first audible signs of his aggravation he'd ever shown around Aiden and, though that should have made him act more carefully, the fifteen year old found himself grinning stupidly.

"Right, so I've been thinking and you didn't seem all that surprised with either of your theories about me," Aiden jibed. While his words could be seen as playful, he was keeping his voice as polite and factual as he could – he wasn't going to forget what company he was in. "Nor did you seem disturbed. Kind of makes it seem as if you relate to those theories."

Riddle was definitely looking incensed now. The expression wasn't extreme, not one that (Aiden thought) many would recognize. The Slytherin Prince still looked formal; his features were that of uninterested beauty. Aiden didn't miss that his lips were pressing down, though, or that his eyes were narrowed.

"I am often correct," Riddle stated and though the words were bragging, they were also forward and true. "My theories are correct, too, as a norm. Why would I be surprised to find myself accurate when that is so often expected?"

Aiden's eyebrows furrowed. He was at a loss. "You're such a tree," he managed. "Either way, I'll get back to you about that. As surprising as it might be to you, I'm usually correct, as well. Let me contemplate for a while. Be prepared, Riddle."

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" the pale teen asked, looking oddly amused for all his vexation.

"Not at all," Aiden grinned. "I just want to prove you wrong."


	7. State Of Seduction

**"Creating chaos just to prove we're alive, demolition of a delicate kind. Midnight confessions keep on blurring the line."**

_State of Seduction,_ by Digital Daggers

* * *

Divination was a subject that Aiden hadn't originally intended to like. It was a controversial thing, Divination, and most Ravenclaws considered it a useless thing to learn. Aiden believe that, while predictions could sometimes be off and completely wrong, that was to be expected. One could not always be accurate, especially since Divination was widely based on how one _interpreted_ the information given to them.

Fifth year students studied dreams in Divination, which was well enough because Aiden was known to have very odd imaginings. He was almost disappointed that the class was only taught on Mondays (and for such a small time). Almost. If it weren't for the fact that most of his dreams were totally bizarre this year, leaving him confused and unsatisfied, he would have been more enthusiastic about the class.

Aiden made a noise in the back of his throat, reading over a few of the entries in his required dream diary. He had two, one to turn in and one for himself; there were some things his professors just shouldn't read. His personal dream diary was larger, more detailed, and uncensored. It was the weekend, early December, and he was in the library – any books he deemed useful for dream analysis were placed on the table in front of him.

He'd had a dream. It hadn't been a normal dream for him, hence his sudden academic splurge. It was anything _but_ normal. Sexual dreams happened occasionally, that was sure, but never once had he dreamed in this way. In his dream he had been tied up, unclothed, and unable to see anything. The room he was in was dark, in his dream, and he had felt helpless and undeniably _aroused_.

While all of that was disturbing in itself, the aspect that had jolted him to reality was the voice that had echoed throughout the dark expanse of his dream, the smooth, seductive voice that had sent a jolt up his spine, whispering to him for what seemed ages. The words had been merciless, violent, threatening but for some reason his body had reacted to them. He had dreamed of Tom Riddle's voice.

Aiden blanched, pushing the book away from him. So far every interpretation he'd come across had identified being tied up, in a sexual way, with repressed and not-yet dealt with desires. Nonsexually, they could be interpreted as him feeling as if he's being watched too closely, suffocated. Somehow the first option, considering the nature of the dream, seemed most likely.

"The Magic of Dreams: Reality or Not?" the voice from his reverie lulled, reading the title of one of the books he had already put aside. Aiden flinched, falling from his chair with a loud bang. A few people glanced at him, decidedly weren't interested, and went back to their business. Riddle levelled him with a stare, mouth curling up in a dry smile. "Having strange dreams recently, Pendragon?"

The blond pushed himself up, reaching for his dream journal as swiftly as he could. He was just about to snatch it from the table when pale, long fingers seized it. Aiden glowered at Riddle, flushing indignantly. (And, likely, in embarrassment of what he knew was written in that journal.) "Please give me that," he spoke rigidly.

"Hm," Riddle lazed, flipping through the journal with feigned interest. "I don't see why I shou—. . ." His voice cut off, slight widening of his eyes the only sign of his wonder. Aiden leaned forward and pulled the diary from Riddle's grasp, face aflame. He would have made an angry statement about the Slytherin's disregard for his privacy but he found himself unable to speak. Riddle, as well, seemed to have nothing to say.

He was breathing heavily, irritation making him feel hot. Instead of stammering (as he knew he would) or wondering how much Riddle had managed to read, he sat back in his chair and continued what he had been doing, stubbornly set on the boring pages.

A few moments later, Riddle sat across from him, reading some books of his own. Aiden hadn't noticed at first but it seemed as if Riddle had brought his reading material with him. He did frequent the library often so it was likely that he hadn't even come here with intentions of torturing Aiden.

He wasn't able to absorb any information from the volumes and ended up rereading certain pages over and over in an effort to learn _something_. It was difficult, to say the least, with his currently very distracting thoughts. He was reliving the vivid dream in his mind, worrying over what had just happened, and feeling himself grow more anxious by the minute.

His heart was pounding.

"That was interesting," Riddle eventually spoke, placing his reading material calmly on the table. He _almost_ sounded uncomfortable.

Aiden still wasn't able to formulate a reply. He was mortified.

"Very detailed," the pale angel noted, voice clipped. "Do I really come off that vicious?"

"Yes," Aiden admitted reluctantly. You also come off as very seductive and sometimes wanton, he didn't add, because that likely only applied to Aiden's perception of him. Riddle nodded at that, apparently pleased with his threatening presence. Odd, considering that most of the life at this school saw him as a charming, polite orphan. Aiden turned away, once again unable to meet the other's gaze.

"Look at me," Riddle ordered irately. The blond's lips parted. He lifted his head and stared into the Slytherin's indiscernible eyes. The stare went on for a few minutes, possibly longer, before Aiden broke contact again. He felt like he was on fire. He didn't think he'd ever been more humiliated.

"I have to go," he mumbled awkwardly, picking up his belongings before any protest could be made and scurrying from the library. He knew he was being watched as he fled.

* * *

Susan had been acting strangely around him for a while now. Where her usual lightheartedness used to be, silences became dominant. Aiden had a sneaking suspicion of what her reasons might be but he didn't bother asking about it. He was familiar with embarrassment himself, especially lately, and he didn't feel like confronting her feelings. He was content to let this matter play itself out on its own, as he knew it would, with him ignoring is for as long as he could.

Which is why he was more than a little outraged when Myrtle, a younger student (and another member of Tom Riddle's innumerable fans), immaturely approached he and Susan and squeaked that "they were a very cute couple". Perhaps it really wasn't too immature of a statement or really _that_ annoying but the awkward air surrounded them both increased greatly and when Myrtle skipped away he decided it was time to act. He wasn't able to ignore this any longer, regrettably.

"Listen," he said gently, face red for the second time that day (though in a significantly different way), "You, uh. . . And I—" Alright, perhaps this wasn't going as well as it should. Susan spared him further stuttering, looking extremely unamused with his attempt.

"I get it, Aiden," she exhaled. She didn't sound angry. She didn't sound happy, either. "It's okay. You're very fanciable so it's not a surprise that I would take a liking to you. That doesn't mean I'm going to bemoan your every move or faint when you speak. More than that, it also doesn't mean that I'll resent your relationship. I'm more mature than that."

Best not to show his confusion with her explanation; he was too relieved. "Thank you, Susan," he whispered, truly appreciative. "I apologize if I've come off as insensitive."

She rolled her eyes. "I can't blame you for fancying Tom Riddle. Can't blame him for fancying you, either. You're both charming. Still, I'll ask you to forgive me if I seem a little unapproachable for a while. The heart and its woes and such nonsense."

He sputtered and the small amount of him that was still sane was thankful that none of his Slytherin friends were around to see him. "Excuse me?"

She ignored him and mumbled something about obliviousness.

* * *

Aiden chose to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas break. His sister, Kathryn, went home after a brief goodbye with him. She told him she was expecting a present from him and that she would make their parents send him gifts, as well. He had smiled at her and ruffled her hair and she had left without another word. She was an interesting one, his sister, and he was very proud of her; still grudging, but proud.

Aiden's family was well enough when it came to money but he wasn't rich. Compared to Johnathon Lestrange or even Charlus Potter (who had apparently decided that Aiden was his friend and was speaking with him more and more), there were many things out of his reach.

Winter holidays at Hogwarts were a beautiful thing that even he appreciated. Most went to visit their families, so there weren't as many people around, and that suited him just fine. He was freer, in many ways, and the emptiness of the castle comforted him.

Through the unending silence, however, even while it solaced him, Aiden found himself falling into ill spirits. It wasn't the sour kind from the beginning of the year; it was a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was intimately familiar with. He felt this way often when he was on his own. He remembered Riddle pointing out Aiden's dislike of himself and the feeling worsened.

"The school is peaceful," the serene voice of the Grey Lady told him. She was in the same empty room as him, staring out the window regally. Despite her reputation, she was very friendly with the Ravenclaws.

Aiden lifted his shoulders lifelessly. "I suppose it is. It's usually more chaotic, isn't it?"

She turned to him, floating, long hair resting against her back. She was transparent, yes, but not completely, not when she chose to make herself visible. She was beautiful, very royal looking, and she held herself tall. Her presence, while usually helpful, was only serving to make him more depressed. "I wouldn't call it chaos." She moved towards the wall. "It's just busier, usually. The reprieve from the usual energy is tranquil." With that, she vanished through one of the bookcases, to go to some unseen place. She was a mystery.

Being completely alone left him feeling as empty as the castle. He stood from his spot near the fire and supposed it was time to finally go Christmas shopping.

* * *

"You seem pale."

"That's hilarious, coming from you." Aiden gestured pointedly at Riddle, who was considerably paler than the Ravenclaw.

"Sometimes I am truly astonished by how dense you are," Riddle drawled and it took a few seconds for Aiden to understand what he was talking about. (A testament to Riddle's words, really.)

"Oh."

Riddle ignored him, taking a seat next to Aiden. They were once again in the astronomy tower, one of the blond's favorite places to sulk. He didn't bother mentioning how odd it was that Riddle knew where to find him.

"I'm alright," Aiden said, calmingly, because why else would Riddle point out Aiden's pallor? It was near impossible to believe that the Slytherin might be worried about him, even if only a tiny amount, but that was the conclusion Aiden had met.

"Be quiet." Riddle wasn't looking at him, looking as if he were completely disinterested in the conversation, but Aiden knew now that appearances could be deceiving. He didn't speak, didn't ruin the silence. The feeling of doom in his stomach was still there but it had lessened marginally. He took a chance and leaned into Riddle's shoulder, eyes closing.

Riddle still seemed perfectly at ease, breathe as controlled as it always was, but that he allowed the contact at all was show of his growing tolerance for Aiden. It made him feel a little special. It also made him question everything he thought he had known.

"I must admit that this is . . . new to me." Riddle's voice echoed, pensively. "That is not to say that I abhor it."

"It's not bad though, is it?"

"I don't know," Riddle admitted. Aiden was too tired to realize how significant that revelation must be to the Slytherin beauty.

He couldn't say when he fell asleep but he knew it didn't take long. He was more contented than he'd been in days, under the stars.


	8. Chokehold

**"I can smell you on my clothes; I try to stay composed." **

_Chokehold,_ by Adam Lambert.

* * *

Recently, Aiden was having unpleasant mornings. He would be awoken by the strangest things, would fall out of bed, and generally wasn't getting enough sleep. That was partially his fault, he knew, for staying up late often – but he couldn't fall asleep without reading and when he read, he read for **_hours_**. His roommates had complained of the light from his _lumos_ many times; after years of reading in a shared room, he'd learned to pretty much go undetected.

At first, he didn't note the difference, didn't realize that he wasn't woken abruptly by some unlikely scene or burst of sound. It was a little chilly, a little uncomfortable physically, but he was relaxed and had honestly slept very well. He opened his eyes, a little disoriented, and froze. This wasn't the astronomy tower. It wasn't Ravenclaw tower, either. He was in an unused classroom, one of many, and he had absolutely no idea how he had gotten there. Aiden sat up slowly, still dazed from sleep.

"You sleep very deeply."

"AGH!" he shouted, startled. He'd have probably fallen down had he not already been on the floor. As it was, he pushed back so suddenly his head slammed into the wall, a blinding flash of pain taking precedence. He doubled over, head in his hands, eyes closed tightly, wanting nothing more than to kick Tom Riddle in the shin.

A barely audible charm was whispered and the pain soothed, clearing enough for Aiden to look up once more. He attempted to glare at Riddle, he really did, but the absurdity of them both being in an empty classroom (and Aiden not knowing how they got there) prevented him from managing the irritation needed. Riddle seemed to read the curiosity on his face, the barest of smirks forming on his lips.

"I carried you." Riddle's hair was as in place as always and he looked like he'd just come from a royal ball. He was sitting in a chair languidly, lean legs crossed over one another, poised as if he hadn't slept. He probably hadn't, Aiden thought grimly, before deciding that was stupid and doubtful. "You fell asleep on me, snoring like a hippogriff all the while." Aiden frowned. "You're pouting," Riddle mentioned annoyingly.

"Am not," he muttered. "Why did you, uh, carry me? Seems like a lot of effort. We could have stayed up there."

"Or I could have left you there." The Slytherin really was smirking now. "Some Gryffindors apparently lost a bet. As punishment they had to streak in the astronomy tower at first light. I decided to move before that happened; I'd rather not be blinded."

Aiden blinked. That . . . made a lot of sense, he guessed. He took the moment to look around and noticed for the first time that he was covered in a very light blanket, the material tangled around his limbs. There was no sign of where Riddle might have slept but that made sense – somehow, Tom Riddle didn't seem like someone who would leave evidence of human necessity lying around. The slight chill he had felt when he woke up was gone; it felt very warm now.

"Thank you." Aiden didn't know what else to say.

"May I ask you something?" Riddle was watching him, a curios tinge to his smirk. Aiden resisted the urge to immaturely say 'you already asked one'. He nodded, aware of his foolishly pounding heart. This was becoming extremely dangerous.

"Am I still a tree?"

". . ."

The blond slumped, grin threatening to split his face. He was doing his best not to laugh, doing his best not to show how amused that question made him – Riddle was sighing, aggravated with his behavior, but he couldn't help himself. "No," Aiden decided, having taken a minute to think the question over. "You're better company than a tree."

"Am I?" Riddle raised an eyebrow, sarcastic.

"Yeah. You're more of a rock now."

"And you said_ I_ was infuriating."

Aiden smiled cheekily. "I am adorable," he teased, wiggling around in his (likely transifigured) blanket. "I am adorable and I am far from infuriating."

Riddle shook his head, not gracing Aiden's silliness with a reply. Aiden kept wiggling, much like a dying worm. "Are you hungry, Pendragon?"

"You know," the Ravenclaw sat up a little straighter, ceasing his movement. "You should call me Aiden. But yes. I am starving." As he was standing to walk with Riddle to the Great Hall for breakfast, something dawned on him. "Merlin's beard, it's Christmas Eve, bloody fucking gravy biscuits."

"Your choice of swears is _remarkable_."

* * *

Since most of the other students were home it wasn't surprising to see houses mixing in the Great Hall. Green and blue and red and yellow blended, the few students who had decided to stay for Christmas sitting wherever they pleased. If he was being honest, Aiden was sort of expecting to sit by Riddle – they walked to the Great Hall together, had stayed up with each other, and the Ravenclaw was feeling satisfied. Riddle, apparently, didn't feel the sentiment. As soon as they passed through the giant doors that led to the Hall, Riddle allowed him a cool, disdainful look before walking toward the Slytherin table. Aiden stood there, arms dangling uselessly at his side, glaring at his feet like a child.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

He turned, still pouting, and spied Allison. She was staring at if she were concerned for his sanity. "No," he mumbled, frowning. She groaned at his stupidity, grabbed his hand, and dragged him toward their table. Oh. Yeah. He'd been standing in the doorway like an idiot. "Thanks," he told her distractedly.

"No need." She crossed her legs and looked at him with a feigned attempt at contempt. "You can repay me with something other than your words. You're in my debt . . . Pendragon." She drew out the last part, dark lips poised in a leer. He laughed.

"Merry Christmas Eve." He wiggled his eyebrows at her and he realized he was doing a lot of wiggling hat day. She sighed.

"I was wondering about that, actually."

"About what?"

"Christmas. Why do wizards celebrate it? It's a muggle holiday and it's a religious one." She was putting food on her plate now, sweets and some fruits. There was a plethora of things to choose from, the meal a feast despite it still being the day before Christmas.

"I don't know," he admitted. "It's probably something that we picked up from muggles, though some would be loath to admit it. During the times when we've had to do our best to blend in with them, do our best to be one of them, we learned things from them. Some of their beliefs rubbed off on us."

"That could be why." Allison buttered some toast, looking very regal. "Or it could also be something that the muggle born brought with them."

"Huh. Yeah. That's a possibility."

The fell into silence after that, chewing thoughtfully on their food. A few owls flew in, scattered and few, one for Aiden from his mom and one from Johnathon but nothing too interesting. He was almost nervous, wondering if his orders would get here in time for tomorrow. Best not to think about it too much, he decided. They still had a whole day to arrive.

* * *

Aiden startled awake, an explosion sounding beside his ear. He shouted, nearly falling from his chair. A group of Ravenclaws were playing a game of Exploding Snap right next to him, ignoring the fact that he had been very comfortably taking a nap. He shot them a nasty look, retreating from the common room into other parts of the school.

"Stupid." He frowned at the floor, every bit like a first year. Sometimes it was hard to believe he'd be sixteen soon; he could be suave and mature one moment and a pouting brat the next. Even he found it ironic. "No respect for a prefect."

"You mumble a lot."

"Whoa! I mean . . . I saw you there. Hi." Aiden did his best to calm his heart, brown eyes focusing on anything but the perfectly infuriating creature in front of him. He scratched the back of his neck, blond hair tickling gently. "Fancy seeing you here."

"We're both prefects, Pendragon. This is the entrance to the prefect bathroom. It's not much of a coincidence."

"Right. Uhm. Yeah." Merlin, he was such an idiot. He was never this awkward, never tripped over himself this much. Yes, his limbs were sort of long and in a weird stage of growth, but he had always considered himself fairly nimble. He was an idiot; a huge idiot.

"You're very coherent." Riddle smiled, an irresistible know-it-all gleam in his eyes that made Aiden want to kick him.

"I want to kick you," Aiden admitted.

"How barbaric."

"I will tell you again, Riddle, that sarcasm isn't attractive on you." He scowled.

"Are you sure about that?" The dark haired teen took a step forward. On instinct, Aiden tried to get away, his back hitting the wall. He was trapped. Riddle's smile looked angelic, deceitfully innocent. Both of his hands found purchase on the wall on either side of Aiden's head. "Is it that _unattractive_?"

"Yes," he said. "Very. I'm very sure." He was doing his best not to meet Riddle's eyes but somehow that turned for the worse. Not having his eyes to look at left Aiden staring at his mouth, _his lips_."Very, very, very sure. It is the most unattractive thing in the world."

"Hm?" Riddle affected a frown, pretending to be hurt. "That's very mean of you to say. I suppose I'll have to take your honesty as it is." He sighed and backed away, expression woeful. "I'm not sure I'll ever recover from this."

"You're the worst tree I've ever met."

"I thought I was a rock." There was that smirk again.

"Right. A rock. I stand corrected. You're the worst rock I've ever met."

"I'm the only rock you've ever met," Riddle pointed out.

"True. I'll have to put up with you."

"I'm looking forward to it," Riddle drawled. Aiden wasn't too lost to miss the amusement in the Slytherin's voice.

"Good. Well . . . what brings you here?"

"I pointed this out just a few minutes ago but in show of my patience I'll do so again. This is the entrance to the prefect's bathroom. What do you _think_ I am doing here?" Riddle tilted his head to the side. He seemed very smug.

"Er. Taking a bath, I suppose?"

"How astute of you to realize."

"I was going to take a bath, too – that's why I'm here. But I'll let you go first. I'll use Ravenclaw's bath." _Please don't say that we can take one together, please don't say we can take one together, please, please, please say that we **can** – I mean. Yeah. Don't say._ Aiden was fidgeting nervously.

"My thanks." He turned to the painting guarding the door, said the password that had been given to the prefects, and spared one last glance over his shoulder. "Oh, and Pendragon? Maybe next time."

He was gone and Aiden was left feeling embarrassed of his own stupid fantasies.


	9. Ever After

**'"I could be your perfect disaster."**

_Ever After,_ by Marianas Trench

* * *

There was a certain song that he used to be very fond of, one that he couldn't remember. The lyrics and the tune came to him when he was asleep, playing on repeat through the oddness that was his dreams. When he awoke, it escaped him again. It seemed important somehow and the song was melancholic; the voice that sang it, he managed to remember, wasn't perfect but it felt like home. Aiden was brought into lucidity by loud voices, giggling, and a general air of excitement. He wasn't able to join in right away – the feeling of his dream was still too strong.

"Wake up," Walden Belby shouted at him, ripping the covers from his body and shocking him with the cold winter air. "It's Christmas, you twat, and you're the last to get up. We've been trying to be considerate and wait for you but it's rather hard to do. Cody already opened his presents, he said there was no reason to wait for you, that it didn't matter, and I'm starting to agree with him."

"Okay," Aiden huffed. "Breath. I barely understood most of that, you spoke so quickly." Regardless, Aiden dressed himself as fast as he could (though most of the Ravenclaws around him were still in their pajamas) and zeroed in on the presents sitting on the foot of his bed. As much as he sometimes hated this holiday, he also loved it. The contradictions were sweet.

"You lot didn't need to wait for me," he told them, sitting back on his bed, eyes not leaving his presents. "It's not like there's some rule saying we all need to open things together."

"We know that." That was Clearwater's voice, a short and usually quiet fifth year. When Clearwater did speak, he was typically very forward and friendly. "But this way we can make sure everyone shares. What if someone gets nothing but socks and someone else gets a hoard of chocolate frogs? Wouldn't be fair, would it?"

Aiden laughed. Leave it to the Ravenclaws to think of something like that. There wasn't much more speak. They all ripped into their presents. Aiden received a few books from his sister along with a letter telling him that those came from her Slytherin connections. They were books he'd been wanting but hadn't been able to get his hands on, so he was appreciative. From his parents, he got a concoction of sweets, some tomes on the Pendragon history from an anonymous giver, a remembrall (as a joke, he hoped) from Johnathon, and one smaller present at the bottom that he had almost missed under the bunch.

It was very neatly wrapped, square, and had a bit of writing on it. _To the heir of Pendragon, _it was labeled. He tore off the paper carefully, a bit of his stomach swirling nervously. Should he hope on who this was from? Inside was a ring, the band white and intricately carved, a very dark blue stone glinting at him dangerously. On the bottom of the jewel was, he assumed, words from a language he couldn't even begin to recognize. It was a beautiful gift and he certainly felt attached to it but he was somehow certain that it wasn't from who he had been hoping. It fit perfectly on his index finger when he tried it on.

"Whoa, are you going to eat all of that?" Someone asked him, pointing at the sweets his parents had gifted him. He jumped on them, careful with his weight, and put his arms around the stack of candy protectively.

"Yes. Go away. They're mine."

* * *

Christmas feast was better than he could hope. He was too distracted by the amount of food to look around, so it wasn't until he was achingly full that he found himself glancing around. The hall was decorated magnificently. The house elves and the teachers had honestly gone all out. It made him smile to see the effort that had been put into the holiday despite how empty the school was. Dumbledore was wearing a purple robe, dotted with blinking stars. The design was very realistic and charmed to swirl around in a rather hypnotic way.

Little first year Allison was dressed in muggle clothing, a skirt and other odd things. Muggle fashion would always confuse him. Her hair was done in tasteful curls and she was laughing at something the Hufflepuff sitting next to her had said. Derrick Nott, at the Slytherin table, was sitting by himself looking extremely moody despite the cheer of the day. That made Aiden feel the smallest bit smug, he would admit.

When his eyes travelled a little further down that table, they met with the dark glare that the beautiful Tom Riddle seemed to always uphold. The stare did soften a little, he raptly noted, when he saw Aiden looking at him. He could easily think too far into that, though, so after a huge, goofy grin that probably reassured Riddle of Aiden's idiocy, he looked away and finished what was on his plate.

* * *

It was a few hours later, time passing very quickly amidst the spirit of Christmas, that things got interesting again. Not many people went outside because of the heavy snow but there were the brave few who dared the weather. Aiden wasn't one of those people and he was very glad of that. It seemed the people who did go out always came back in covered in snow. He wasn't sure if there was just a large snow fight going on or if they ended up like that purely due to the weather. He also wasn't sure which idea unnerved him more.

A Hufflepuff third year ran in the entrance, shaking off a pile of snow from her head. It took a few minutes of her de-snowing herself before she even become recognizable. Aiden was considering sending a cleaning charm her way, since she didn't seem to have thought of it.

"Thinking of going out?"

"No," Aiden said slowly, turning from the girl he had been staring curiously at and smiling at Riddle. "It's too wild out there for me. I'd die and you'd miss me forever."

Riddle raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. "Would I?"

The blond grinned. "Yeah! You would. You really would. I'm too fun to not be missed, even by the coldest Slytherin."

"I thought we were past your hurtful comments," Riddle remarked mordantly. "I'm not the coldest Slytherin. I'm sure many people would be happy to give you lengthy testimonials of the wonder of my patience."

"You're smiling."

"Am not."

Aiden laughed, hand coming up to brush through his hair. The movement paused when Riddle's eye focused on his hand, expression blandly curious. "That's a new ring," he said.

"Oh." Aiden blinked. "Yeah, I got it this morning. It didn't say who it was from and it has something written on it in a language I don't know. It was a Christmas present." He spoke the last part a bit bitterly, brown eyes staring at the Slytherin beauty accusingly.

"Hmm," Riddle frowned. "Speaking of Christmas presents, I got yours. It was very . . . interesting. I had been looking for that book for some time and I'm unsure how you found that out but I appreciate it nonetheless. Thank you, Pendragon."

Alright, so he was having a harder time staying angry after a seemingly genuine thanks but he was still a bit miffed that Riddle hadn't gotten him anything, either. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting or **_why_** he'd expected anything – he'd assumed and had been wrong. Aiden deflated, anger leaving him.

"You're welcome. My sister, ah, is a Slytherin. I had her ask you what you were reading a few times and kind of did a little investigation. It was a good guess, I suppose. I'm glad you like it," he said.

Riddle sighed and turned away from him, marching toward the nearest stair case. "Follow," the Slytherin said simply and Aiden obeyed. They walked in general silence, Aiden speaking up occasionally to make jokes that Riddle would scoff at. Riddle sometimes said something sardonic and Aiden would burst into laughter again, poking fun at how dry Riddle's humor was.

Aiden was led into an empty classroom on one of the top floors of the school. It was a very unused room but it wasn't dusty and wasn't that messy, either. In fact, it seemed to be in much better shape than one would expect. Aiden wasn't sure if that was just another odd thing about the magical castle or if this was a place Riddle visited often. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. Riddle closed the door behind them and now the Ravenclaw was nervous.

"Erm," he said. "Merry Christmas."

"I'm not stupid, Pendragon," Riddle began, ignoring his attempt at making things a little lighter. "I know you're disappointed that I didn't get you anything. This is . . . new to me, one might say. As much as I am unwilling to admit it, I do not know how to approach what is going on here. I am not even sure that I want to. And yet," he paused, looking Aiden up and down the same way he had months ago on the Hogwart's express, the way that sent a shiver down Aiden's spine, "I find myself disappointed that I did nothing, as well. I am not the type of person who denies himself what he wants often."

Aiden swallowed, eyes wide. "I don't really know what you're talking about," he breathed and after a few seconds he amended himself. "Rather, I _think_ I know what you're talking about and I – . . . I'm mostly likely wrong but—" He cut himself off, unsure of how to word his suspicion tactfully. He was standing straight, as was Riddle, and for what seemed like the first time in their many interactions he was the one who moved first. He took a step toward Riddle, strangely calm despite the nerves coursing through him. That seemed like a big thing, a part of him noted idly.

"Is it possible that you fancy me, Riddle?"

The question hung in the air. Riddle seemed pensive, almost troubled. His eyes were perturbed and Aiden was certain that, had the Slytherin less self-control, he might even be fidgeting. "I don't think I know what that feels like," he admitted. He sounded bored, damn him.

Aiden was angry again. "The thing is_, I_ fancy you. So when you manage to figure out how you feel, if you feel anything at all, you can talk to me again. I don't want to be your toy. You're frustrating and you're irritating at times and you're also unbelievably fun to talk with. But I've been in this position before; I know better than to bother fancying someone who can't return the sentiment. I refuse to play the naïve magical teenager who chases after anyone interesting."

"I'm aware of that," Riddle said icily, leveling him with a glacial look. "I brought you up here for a reason. When I don't know something, I find out."

With that said, Riddle grabbed Aiden's tie and pulled him toward him roughly. His skin was very soft, as was expected, and his other hand tilted Aiden's head up with surprising softness. (Aiden, for once, didn't really mind his awkward height.) "When I want something," Riddle whispered, breath ghosting against Aiden's lips, "I take it." Aiden wasn't interested in hearing whatever speech would follow that, so he pushed himself up on his toes and crushed his lips against the Slytherin's.


End file.
